An Addict is An Addict is An Addict

My name is Marci (yeah, Nonjudgmental Group, I said “Marci”  ending in a cute little ‘i’ that, if possible in Word, would have a tiny bubble heart over it instead of a plain, old dot, not Marcianne) and I’m an addict.

On Friday I bought a pack of cigarettes and two 24 oz. $1 cups of hazelnut coffee at WaWa. I took a lot of fake Equal packets home for free. I smoked a lot of the cigarettes because I was a) drinking coffee b) writing long, wordy emails to friends who probably don’t even read to the end c) posting interesting articles, with a not-so-subtle plug for stocks I own and/or a dig at people who fired me and d) writing and re-writing my To Do list for the day even though I was getting none of those things done because I was busy editing the list.

On Saturday I bought a 24 oz. $1  hazelnut/decaf mixed coffee at WaWa and mindfully skipped the cigarette cashier. Thinking that decaf coffee might lead to less tobacco craving. Took a lot of fake Equal packets for free.

On Sunday I hid upstairs in the cat’s room to smoke out the open window (yeah, it was raining all over the floor next to the window) so my significant other didn’t see me smoking with my leftover WaWa coffee (hey, you’d get the max size cup too if it was only $1).

On Monday morning at 4:00 a.m. I was thrilled to find that my cigarette pack from Friday still had a smoke in it. And then I was thrilled to find that the cigarettes I’d ‘hidden’ upstairs and down were still there.

On Monday at 8:30 (after being up since 4:00 a.m. because I was coughing so hard it woke me up) I was despondent to find that there were not more secret cigarette stashes. “Why didn’t I put one in the egg carton?????,”  I screamed inside my head. Was drinking my own, Mr. Coffee coffee fully caffeinated and full of free fake Equal.

On Monday at 8:40 I picked some good-looking, i.e. 1/8 unsmoked) cigarette butts out of the trash and chain-smoked them. Even the one that touched my SO’s used Kleenex.

By the way, Nonjudgemental Group, I started writing again. And I need a fuckin’ cigarette to write.

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